


every step to the daylight

by psikeval



Series: cabbage: a love story [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4581366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psikeval/pseuds/psikeval
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen tries to write a letter home, with mixed results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every step to the daylight

**Author's Note:**

> for [dan](http://queerly-it-is.tumblr.com), who is always to blame, and [valerie](http://amoktimes.tumblr.com), who is the greatest

\--

 

With the Inquisition’s mages housed in a tower of their own now, the library in Skyhold is almost entirely empty, and quieter than Cullen has ever seen it. Even Dorian’s corner is empty, save for the usual piles of books; he’s gone traveling with the Inquisitor. They’ve been dealing with an Avvar threat in the Fallow Mire and should return within the week. Not that there will be much chance for rest. As soon as Cadash arrives they’ll need to send her west again, if Scout Harding substantiates the first reports of Leliana’s network.

It’s too much for any one person to handle, and yet they ask it of the Inquisitor without ceasing—and, without fail, she answers the call.

Cullen sets the thought aside and approaches the tranquil mage, Helisma. “Excuse me.”

“Commander,” she says, turning toward him. “Can I help you?”

“Do you mind if I sit at a table here for a little while?”

She considers the request in silence, her eyes distant and disconnected, and Cullen tries to ignore a discomfort that is far too close to guilt. “The tables don’t belong to me,” she tells him. “If you would like to use one, I see no reason you shouldn’t.”

“All right.” He means to walk away, but Helisma speaks again.

“I should thank you for the project of reassembling your book. It was a time-consuming task, but very simple. Orderly. If undertaken as a break from my research, it helped me to consider new approaches to problems. Variation can often help the mind to work at optimal efficiency.”

Cullen stares at her, stunned, but of course she isn't bothered by that. “Ah.”

Someone must have found it and left it in her hands; the simplest solution for a long, monotonous task. Of course there’s no reason to waste a damaged book, no reason to track down the person who gave her this task in his name and— have a word. But he can’t help feeling briefly furious, powerless in the face of it, for all it must make him the worst sort of hypocrite.

A templar, he cannot help but think, has no business acting like her champion now.

“I’m glad you found it useful,” he says instead. “I… appreciate your work.”

Helisma regards him calmly, standing in perfect stillness. “There is no need. My work will continue regardless, if the Inquisitor wishes it.”

“As you say,” says Cullen, and escapes to the farthest possible table. A few moments later the elven librarian comes up the stairs and strikes up a conversation with Helisma, a friendly ongoing chatter that seems well-practiced to save her the burden of responding as others might.

“Please don’t eat the ham they have in the kitchens today,” he begs her cheerfully in the midst of it. “I know one food’s as good as another, but save me the pain of knowing you’ve eaten it. If you must take some, use it for research. Maker knows what you’ll uncover.”

The steady stream of nonsense is rather soothing, in its way, and Cullen finds himself relaxing in his seat, a little less prone to flee.

He very neatly sets out pen and paper, along with Mia’s most recent letter, in case he should need to respond directly to anything she wrote. Having painstakingly arranged everything in front of him, his thoughts immediately turn to the shipment of supplies due from the Storm Coast and how they might best be allocated; the state of their alliance with the Blades of Hessarian; the violent whims of the Waking Sea, and whether the Inquisition should be at all concerned with—

“Reminds me of the Shaperate,” says a voice with a dwarven accent, vaguely familiar. “All the books and everything. I'm not gonna blow it up.”

“Was that even in question?!”

“Eh. There might be some precedent.”

The librarian sputters at length, too horrified for words, and Cullen stifles a smile.

With the Iron Bull also at the Inquisitor’s side, the Chargers staying in Skyhold have become a bit more… raucous. Nothing destructive, or even worthy of disciplinary measures—though Cassandra might disagree, were she here to bear witness—but they do, at times, bring to mind children whose parents have left and given them free rein of the house.

He glances hopefully over his shoulder and feels a thrill of excitement to see Krem is here as well, sidling closer.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says, low and friendly, when he reaches Cullen's side. “Didn’t think you… hm. No, that’s gonna come out mean.”

Cullen laughs, the sound drowned out by Rocky’s increasingly voluble description of exactly what kind of book he’d like on sela petrae. “I don’t, really. I wouldn’t know where to begin in a library like this. But I thought I might make more progress away from my office.”

“So, are you?”

“No,” he admits ruefully, and can’t help but treasure the laugh it draws from Krem. “It seemed like a good idea, but apparently I’m no better at this for having had a change of scenery.”

“Got what I came for, mostly!” Rocky announces to the room at large. “Heading out.”

Krem leans around the bookshelf to say, “I think I’ll stick around for a bit. Chief probably wants to know what the Vint’s reading so he can act like he knows everything.”

“Oh, yeah, good thinking. I’m gonna—”

“ _Go_ ,” the librarian all but snarls.

“Yup. See ya, Krem.”

“So,” Krem prompts when Rocky has gone; Helisma seems to be soothing the librarian’s outrage, in her own detached way. “Having trouble writing a letter?”

“To my sister. I haven’t written since I was in Kirkwall.”

“Trouble between you two?”

“No, it isn't that. I don’t mean to neglect her,” he says, wretchedly. “I’d like for us to stay in touch. But even when I think of things to write, they seem to slip away the moment I sit down. And there are always other things I should be doing.”

“Here,” says Krem after a moment's pause, stepping around behind him. Cullen thinks he means to edit or give suggestions over his shoulder, but instead Krem’s hands fall on either side of his neck, rubbing gently at his shoulders. “Stitches is quite good at this. Very nurturing, when he’s not killing people. Don’t think I’ve really got the knack.”

“I... doubt I’d be able to tell the difference, if it helps.”

“I like that. Keep your standards low.”

Krem tips up his chin, tracing along the lines of Cullen’s jaw and down his throat, hardly putting any pressure on the skin at all. There’s a weight to his touch, all that strength reined into something gentle, and it’s more soothing than it has any right to be.

 _I’ve missed this_ , he thinks but does not say. Probably too soon for it. He can never quite tell, has always been direct in things better approached delicately.

“So, just curious,” Krem says, his voice low and uncharacteristically soft. “You don’t have to tell me. But what’s going on when you make that face?”

“I’m—” His eyes open and desperately fix upon the bookshelves instead of Krem. “Oh. I didn’t realize I was…”

Because he is far kinder than any man could deserve, Krem doesn’t speak, steady pressure from his thumbs coaxing away the new tension in Cullen’s spine.

“I was thinking that I— um.” Maker, is he actually going to do this? “I missed you. Touching me.”

The hands on his shoulders settle, warm and rewarding. “Well, shit, yeah, that’s pretty hard to hear.”

The promise in Krem’s voice is something else, is nearly overwhelming. He circles around Cullen and sits on the table, leans forward, bracing his hands on either side of Cullen’s chair, and ducks down to kiss him, slow torturous brushes of his lips until Cullen pushes himself up closer and all but begs for more. He is obliged almost immediately, Krem’s tongue teasing against his in a way that makes it impossible to sit still—

The librarian clears his throat in a loud and very pointed way and Krem laughs quietly, places a kiss at Cullen’s temple and straightens, lifting his hands in a halfhearted show of innocence. “Sorry about that,” he calls lazily across the rotunda, and Cullen could swear he hears grumbling from Solas below. It’s extraordinarily difficult to care.

He feels _young_ , his heart desperately pounding, light in a way he’d forgotten he could be.

“Right,” he says at last. “I should go. I suppose I’ve worn out my welcome.”

Krem waits for him to gather up his things again, not speaking until they’ve reached the stairs and safely skirted the librarian’s wrath. “Are you busy tonight?”

“More than likely,” he admits reluctantly. “We’ve got a new group of recruits.”

“And tomorrow the ambassador’s asked us to guard some caravan.” They stop as one at the foot of the stairs, a moment of pure frustration that means less than nothing, on a larger scale. 

Cullen huffs a laugh, absently thumbing his scar. “This war is damned inconvenient.”

“Yeah.” Krem rocks back on his heels with a self-deprecating grimace. “Corypheus is _really_ on my bad side now.”

“If he reappears, I’ll be sure let him know.”

“’Til next time, then,” says Krem with one last fleeting half-smile before he’s moving again, headed for the doors and the courtyards beyond. Cullen is left alone to walk as quickly as he can through Solas’ room, which smells strongly of fresh paint and condemnation.

 _Next time_ , he reminds himself, and none of the rest seems to matter.

 

\--

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Every Step to the Daylight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9115912) by [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton), [SomethingIncorporeal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingIncorporeal/pseuds/SomethingIncorporeal)




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